


Gotta catch them all, but I'd rather catch you

by TurkishDelightsHaveViolentEnds



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Erik got reeeeaaaally drunk once and sheanigangs ensued, And everyone is alive and happy, Azazel is that friend we all need sometimes but loathe most of the time, Bisexual Angel, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles is a Teacher, Could be Hank, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik and Azazel are college buddies, Erik hasn't read Harry Potter and Charles thinks that's outrageous, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Big Dorkface, Erik is a sperm dad, Except Sebastian Shaw, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter References, I know it sounds weird but it'll make sense I promise, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), M/M, Male-Female Friendship, No Angst, Or how is it gonna end, Or just fluff and humor?, Pokemon GO References, Pokemon References, Raven and Angel are the queens of awesomeness, Raven is gonna end with someone I don't know who, That man has some serious dickhead issues, The Maximoff twins are such a brotp, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, What is my life? A Cherik whirlwind that's what it is, could be Azazel, dadneto, he's not happy, i don't even know how long is this going to be, magneto - Freeform, maybe some smut?, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:48:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8151229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurkishDelightsHaveViolentEnds/pseuds/TurkishDelightsHaveViolentEnds
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr was not playing Pokemon Go at work. He wasn't hiding in the bathroom stall of the Shaw Corporation building, because it was a pokestop and he desperately needed pokeballs. And he definitively wasn't counting the minutes like a lovesick school girl, to know how much he had to wait to see if the cute, blue-eyed stranger of the other day showed up again, all charming smiles in those red-kissed lips and a gaze so intense someone could drown in it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Cherik fic, that has been in my computer for way too long, and I decided it was time to keep on writing it. I'll try to update as quick as I can but i can't say exactly when will that happen. Between university and my chronic procastination problem it could be a week or more, so i apologize in advance for my tardiness.   
> (I apologize to you too, my Fiona, because instead of writing the original work I owe you I've been writing this)
> 
> I hope you people out there enjoy my fic if you happen to read it, and feel free to comment, ask and critizice whatever you want.  
> Have a nice day!

Erik Lehnsherr was not playing Pokemon Go at work. He was absolutely, irrevocably NOT flicking his long finger over the polished screen of his phone as if in a chaotic ruckus. Of course not, he didn't have time for banal things such as that childish, battery-sucker, mobile data-crusher sorry excuse of a game. He preferred a fine scotch, some chess and Bach playing in the background, mixing itself with the crackling fire and creating a unique, new kind of music only he could understand. (Angel could call him a snob all he wanted, her explosive energy and exotic allure wouldn't last forever, and Erik was going to be there to laugh evilly when the reckless girl discarded punk-rock vinyls over calmer, more classical ones).

Erik Lehnsherr would never fall a slave of these kind of game apps. He left this to innocent kids or teens with nothing better to do. And as terrible as the mere thought sounded in his mind, he left that to his friend Azazel too. Although lately he had been reconsidering their acquaintance, since the devilish idiot had apparently got into the habit of putting on a baseball cap every time they weren't at work and turned it backwards when a new pokemon beeped in his device, pretending to be Ash Ketchum. It also had a lot to do with the fateful night he practically vanished from thin air in the middle of their monthly lets-drink-and-complain-about-our-dickhead-boss get together, leaving Erik with the check to take care of and the unsettling feeling of him being less important than a bunch of digitalized weird-looking animals, just because there was a Gyarados somewhere near the bar and Azazel "needed" it and Erik "just didn't get it, he didn't understand". Near ended up with them walking god knows how many metres in circles and zigzagging like crazy until Azazel had almost fell straight into the course of a river for not paying attention to where he was going and Erik, drenched and cold, had to drag him out of it.   
So no, he most certainly wasn't hiding in the bathroom stall of the second floor of the Shaw Corporation building, because it was a pokestop and he desperately needed pokeballs.   
And he definitively wasn't counting the minutes like a lovesick school girl, to know how much he had to wait to end his workday and go "hunting" pokemons in the central square just to see if the cute, blue-eyed stranger of the other day showed up, all charming smiles in those red-kissed lips and a gaze so intense someone could drown in it.

It wasn't like he started all this new secret obsession with the game on his behalf, it was a matter of pride actually. Everybody was so excited with the game they spent practically all day talking about it. In the coffee machine of the restroom area, at the metro station…even the few friends that putted up with his grumpy behaviour and head-strong beliefs wouldn’t shut up about the damn game and pressured him into playing because they were oh so convinced that he was going to love it, even if it was just out of childhood nostalgia and past days watching the anime after school with a bowl of cereals; and Erik, used to having the last word in most of their discussed topics, decided to download the stupid thing and play a little, to show the world it wasn`t such a divine entertainment and how they could cease on their toxic poke-fever and return to what he thought an interesting conversation and nice, quiet life. Curse the time when he lost that Rattata, because the purple mouse became his downfall into the hellhole he was in. He couldn’t even remember how many pokeballs he threw towards it, just so the wicked animal escaped each one of them to later disappear. Erik was left speechless and dumbfounded, a crippling sensation at the back of his head. A Rattata had flee from his reach eventhough he had used all his pokeballs over and over again. A freaking Rattata! At that very moment Erik had felt a hurricane of frustration destroy the little remaining of sanity he had left after a frustrating day at work, and swore to the skies he was not going to be beaten by a stupid game. He would have the most marvellous, vast collection of pokemons someone could possess. He was Erik Lehnsherr for Yahveh’s sake, he had worked really hard to have the life he had, and no cartoon mouse was going to make him feel less triumphant or even unworthy.   
And so he started eavesdropping his co-workers when they talked about the best places to find certain types of pokemons; the usual get-together with Azazel grew into a double session with the purpose of “hunting” side by side like comrades on a mission, after drinking and having a laugh; and before he realized it he was stopping by the central square of the business park every afternoon he could to find Magnemites or Pidgeots, unless his douchebag of a boss made him stay with an overload of work late at night until he couldn’t think straight anymore.

One day, exhausted after an excruciating meeting with a Russian corporation, in which Sebastian Shaw took all the credit of his work, he had been quickly passing through the square towards his parked motorcycle, absently scanning his phone to see if there were any pokemons nearby, when a Dragonite roared in the map of his screen. His inner child had jumped so high, either because of the rare catch or for knowing Azazel was going to die of jealousy, he actually tripped over his own feet and collided with someone, sending them both in a twister of limbs against the concrete. When Erik looked down, he just saw blue.   
It was a blue so intense, almost cerulean, that for a moment he thought he was back in his hometown, under the bright canopy with sewed clear skies his mother had hanged in his bedroom´s ceiling to make him feel guarded when he had measles. Then, the blue disappeared under a flutter of dark eyelashes and resurged again, more brilliant if that was possible, and Erik realized he was looking at a young man. Not only looking, but practically crushing him under his weight, and he rushed upwards, but before he could extend a hand to help the stranger, the man had already gotten up and was laughing merrily.

In any other situation, the German would´ve apologized half-heartedly or grunted at the stranger for laughing like that, and then he would´ve picked up his belongings scattered across the floor and followed his way. But something in the way those blue orbs were fixated on him, glued his whole body to the air around them and kept him still in an atmosphere of rosy cheeks and home-like eyes, and soon he found himself laughing like crazy along the stranger, happy tears in his eyes and chest breathing out the stress of the day, in a way he hadn’t laughed in a very long time. Not even with Azazel.

However, the hysterical laugh didn´t last forever and as the minutes passed it slowly died in their mouths, mingling with unsteady breaths and a pleasant soft pain in the pit of their stomachs from laughing so hard. The realization that he didn’t know why they were laughing in the first place hit Erik like a Vine whip.  
For him it had been cathartic, that’s for sure, but for the stranger? Was he one of those people that were so happy all day and so ignorant of the horrors of humanity that spent their days living without a care in the world, not seeing that a whole lot of the habitants of the planet were living under inhuman circumstances just so a few privileged could take advantage of them and swim in money?  
As the young man smiled at him again, all white teeth and bright light, he wished not.

-Pokemon Go, uh? - Laughed the stranger, and God, was that a British accent? - So inexplicably funny and so dangerous at the same time. One day someone is going to be ran over by a car, but I’m glad I was crushed by you instead.

The man, while saying that, bit his lip a little and grazed his eyes up and down his body appreciably, from his brown leather shoes to his dark blonde combed hair. It felt like a caress. But Erik, as oblivious as always in matters of coquetry, dismissed this thought shaking his head. The glowing stranger was not flirting with him, why would he? And instead felt a spark of embarrassment clawing at his throat. The man inside him still ashamed of finding entertainment in that idiotic game, resurged with so much force that he began to stutter, and he felt even worse. Since when did he stuttered like a scared child? He was Erik Lehnsherr! A pragmatic man with powerful ideals, not a tiny nervous kid.  
  
-Wha...Pokemon Go? Me? Please, no. I was not, please come on. Whoever you are I wasn’t…I don’t, well, come on…Me? Never, I swear, I just…come on.

If earlier the blue-eyed boy had been laughing hard and loud, now he was maniac, delighted with his response. Something in his head was telling him that the stuttering mess of a man before him was not usually like this, because he looked like the very serious, very German type of guy and knowing that somehow his presence had caused that rock-hard Adonis to behave like that, gave him hope that maybe he could snatch his phone number and have a drink with him someday. Although he had to admit that the black turtle neck that the man was wearing reminded him of Steve Jobs and that creeped him out a little, but bloody hell if he didn’t look handsome, and people with a rare sense of style was always interesting, or that’s what he told her sister Raven every time she pretended to puke when he was wearing his favourite tweed jacket.  
The raised eyebrow told Erik that the charming man had bought none of it, and with a sigh picked up his phone from the floor along with his briefcase and showed him the screen. The Dragonite had escaped but the sound of the stranger’s sunny laugh still ringing in his ears made up for it, and they shook hands.

-It´s okay, my friend, I was playing too. I’m Charles Xavier.

-Erik Lehnsherr, glad I’m not the only one.

There was something in the warmth of Charles’ hand and how he had called him “my friend” that made Erik feel instantly welcomed into his world, as if they had known eachother their whole lives but hadn’t spoken in a long time, and even after years separated they had fallen into conversation and an old familiar sentiment with ease as though they had never been apart. Later, before going to sleep, he wondered if he had hit his head against the pavement and it had been all a product of his bored imagination.

-Of course you’re not the only one! You’re not alone, Erik. This little game has as many players as you can imagine, and it unites us all in a great family. It’s incredible, isn’t it? How this silly game can become so important to so many people and give them a sense of community while different parts of our world are fighting against eachother for power and money, for something that won’t matter in the end.

-A sense of community? I don’t know if I’d call it that, really. Because of this game dozens of people had trespassed private property just to catch a digital animal, they had suffered injuries, got into fights over capturing a pokemon before other person or abandoned more important matters just because they needed to get that rare one. This app is turning perfectly civilized beings into zombies, dependant of their mobile phone. And this seemed almost impossible, given the amount of obsession that there already were before Pokemon Go. It’s throwing people into a technological slavery, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes. So pardon me if I don’t feel that “sense of community” you speak about.

When Charles laughed Erik almost felt offended, but he didn’t look at him with any sort of cruel mockery in his eyes, but a twinkle of admiration and a lot of life, as if he was the new kid on the playground, and had found in Erik a new game companion, someone with who he could finally have fun.

-Seen it with your own eyes and experienced it too. Don’t you think, Mr. Big Words? Or do I have to remind you that you were playing just now, and that’s why you crushed me against the floor? Not that I’m complaining.

Both Charles’ words and raised eyebrows made Erik felt mortified. He was right, he had been so absorbed in his daily bitching about the game that he hadn’t realized that he had fallen a prisoner of it. He was behaving exactly like those he complained so much about.

_Fuck my life, he though, I’m a disgrace. What did I do? I’ve let it control me, this is all Azazel’s fault. That lousy mistvieh*_

  
As lost in his dreadful revelation as Erik was, he didn’t realize Charles was shamelessly staring at him in appreciation and enjoying the faces Erik was pulling off, immersed in his own world. He nearly jumped when the young man pressed his hand against his shoulder in a supportive manner. Chills were travelling through his body faster than lightning, beginning where Charles warm hand was and ending again on it. It felt like he always thought a Volt Tackle would feel like, deathly and alive at the same time, but he tried to convince himself of the contrary. It probably was because he wasn’t expecting him to touch him with such familiarity. Yeah, that was probably it.

-You’re just focusing on the bad things, my friend. I know that most of the time the negative side of a coin is what stands out, but you just have to pay attention to see that’s not just it. Pokemon Go is making people who suffer from depression to get out of their misery and of their rooms, it’s helping shy children to speak with their classmates and to be more open.

It sounded all too marvellous for Erik’s taste, but Charles spoke with such passion it was hard to deny him anything. And if he thought about it that way it was true that one of his workmates, he couldn’t remember his name for the life of him, who had always shied away from social gatherings because of being the new one, was now as integrated as someone could be, and it had all started thanks to the game. Yeah, he could grant him that, not that he was going to admit it aloud just yet, he still had some dignity, thank you very much. Even if the person he had to admit it to was making him weak on the knees.

-Oh, love! - Erik was so immersed in his thoughts that Charles’ sudden outburst startled him, and then he realized he was talking with his mobile phone – Of course I didn’t forget it, I’ll be there in a second.

He threw Erik an apologetic look and mouthed “Gotta run, sorry”, but for a moment he lingered there, with his blue eyes fixated in his tiny, understating smile. Erik, as in autopilot, responded “see you tomorrow” and Charles smiled so bright that he almost forgot to question himself what did he meant by that. And as Charles practically jogged away, saying to whoever was on the other side of the line that he had gotten distracted making a new friend, Erik couldn’t help but to feel warm inside.

Later, way after riding his motorcycle home and cooking himself some dinner, he realized a tiny detail. “See you tomorrow”? What was that supposed to mean, that he was going to wait around the central square like a lost puppy waiting for him to appear? He only knew his name and nothing else, he didn’t knew what he was doing with his life or if he was from this city for that matter. He didn’t even have his number or email (for debating purposes, of course). He had forgotten to ask him for it! Now who was the _mistvieh_?* Maybe Azazel was right, and he had to stop loosing himself so much in his own thoughts when he was talking with someone important, or the way his friend expressed it: he had to be less a Slytherin and more a Hufflepuff, whatever that meant.

So he didn’t have anything but his name and the smile-caused hope of seeing him tomorrow after work, if they ever got to meet again. But as he woke up the next day and the days after that the colour of the walls of the office seemed less greyish and more cerulean, and Erik truly smiled thinking he had to go to work.

**Author's Note:**

> *mistvieh: shithead 
> 
> (or that's what the dictionary said)


End file.
